poniedziałek, 18 marca 2013

I`ve just commited a drawing on old chromolithograph plate from 1906...With this sacrilege i open the journal, things`notation, which shouldn`t longer exist, but in spite of everything, it is still inherent.
Opowieść nr1/Tale No.1

I.The first time your heart was torn from your chest,You thought you were dying.You knew you could not live with the empty space.So you replaced your heart with metaphorsAnd set out to create a world where the metaphor was unbreakable.Now look what you’ve done—You can’t breathe so you write.You can’t hurt so you drink rum and pour our pirate chanties.You can’t want revenge so you leave.II.When I see you I have two thoughts:You are the reason The Smith’s wrote songs,And my god, you are beautiful.You are so beautifulBlinking stars go blind.But I can see this is going to get ugly.The metaphors don’t make you feel whole anymore.You sell out your deepest insecurities for a handful of laughs.This life has you wound so tight you make grandfather clocks look relaxed.You hold your body like banks hold money—all locked up.Your shoulders are glass rocks waiting for the next attack.But you’ve got it all wrong.You don’t survive history.History survives you.There is no breakthrough without breakdown.III.If you’re going to break, shatter.No explanations.No limp-legged dog excuses.No messing with this bullet proof vest furySo popular with the cops and the presidents.You’ve got to break like Texas.You’ve got to take the pain from the safety valve of your heartAnd return it to your fists.Fight your better judgment ‘till you’re sinister again,‘till your body remembers what it already knows how to do—bend backand manifest grief.Scream torches ‘till you embarrass the enlightened.Please. No more polite conversations with your death wish.Give it something useful to do.Change your life.Cause I can’t stand to see you like this.So blue, my eyes turn green in your presence.Listen—you are so beautiful,Grass pushes through sidewalk cracks just to kiss your feet.IV.Maybe no one ever told you,But the heart is a metaphor.Yours is growing so strongYou’ll have your rhythm back any day now—Loving like rumours spread.Dreaming like lunatic spacemen jump from their suits.Living like you never forgot how. Mindy Nettifee, “The First Time”

poniedziałek, 4 marca 2013

Późno już, pora wracać. Zamykam oczy i śnię o bezkresach. Zamyka oczy i śni o granicach. Zamykasz oczy.It`s late, time to go back. I close my eyes and dream about vastness. It closes his eyes and dreams about borderlines. You close your eyes.